


Xs on Your Skin

by Shen_Gong_Oops



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bellarke Secret Santa, F/M, Miscommunication, Second Dawn Bunker (The 100), There is no Dark Year because Monty Green knows what he's doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21989776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shen_Gong_Oops/pseuds/Shen_Gong_Oops
Summary: Bellamy is oblivious as to why Clarke keeps drawing what he thinks are Xs on him. And to be fair, she could have been a lot more direct in her approach.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 174





	Xs on Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [importantmetaphors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/importantmetaphors/gifts).



> **Canon divergence (anything from any season), Romantic Bellarke, Any other genre, Moment(s) of peace (for them and/or the entire group),** Someone finds/invents something new (fic)
> 
> I meant to do all of them but for some reason while writing this my brain was like yea, it's someone fixes something not someone finds/invents something new. My bad… but I did other ones!
> 
> I hope this is okay!

* * *

Four hundred and thirty-seven days. They had been trapped within dull claustrophobic walls for four hundred and thirty-seven days. Trading in the drafty metal corridors of the Ark to the dark, windowless caverns of the Second Dawn bunker.

He tossed his jacket onto one of the small chairs in their pod and dropped face first onto the bed. His feet throbbing and back aching, but he was too sore to reach over and undo his work boots. Placing one foot against the heel of the other, he forced the shoe off and then the second. Struggling against the worn fabric of his henley, Bellamy extricated himself of his work clothes. Once his jeans were shucked to the far corner of the pod, he forced himself to roll over. One of his hands searching blindly in the small dresser beside the bed for a pair of clean sweats. 

With a groan, Bellamy raised his hands to cover his eyes. He had agreed to take on additional work. Barely had time to sleep and now he would have a  _ fourth  _ job. Temporary, just until the woman would be able to return to work after her child was born, but still a fourth job.

He really needed to stop opening his stupid mouth. His roles as an advisor to his sister and an “apprentice” (read: grunt) to Raven were due to his close relationships with the two women. When they both asked for help, he gladly jumped at the chance - but then when the kitchen staff needed temporary assistance, he was the first to offer a hand; or when their farming station needed additional hands for a project about a month ago, he stepped in immediately. Stupid mouth. 

The position on the guard was a given.

The door to their pod flung open and Clarke stumbled through. Half of her hair remained in a lopsided bun atop her head, while the other half fell in a mess of curls down her back. Tired, blue eyes met his before she plopped down face first onto the mattress. Chuckling quietly to himself, he reached out an arm to pull her into him. "I did the same thing."

Inaudible grumbles intermixed with grunts came from the pillow. With everyone living in such confined quarters, and without the extensive medications available on the Ark, if one person caught a cold, the entirety of the bunker caught a cold. She spent a majority of the past week living in the Medbay. A skeleton crew of medics doing everything they could to curb the illness before it escalated. "None of your jobs need you tonight, right? I'm tired." Clarke preferred method of sleep was using him as a body pillow. Her smaller frame wrapped entirely around his. 

"Kane may have had to physically shove me from the room."

"Of course he did." She mumbled quietly, head turning to look at him. "You don't need to be working three jobs."

He lost count of how many times they had this conversation; had to be over a hundred times at this point. His name ended up on her list of one hundred people from Skaikru who would carry on the human race. He never finished training as a cadet and spent a year as a janitor. He had no formal training, no real trade skills. Geoff Hardy had legitimate inquiries when he questioned why Bellamy ended up on the list. He still had no idea why his name was there, regardless of Clarke's assurances he deserved the spot. He took on whatever work was offered as an attempt to justify the spot he coveted. 

She rolled over, arms wrapping around his waist. Her nose bumping in between his shoulder blades. “Too tired.”

Cold fingers languidly drew irregular patterns against his chest. A swoop here, a loop there. "How was Medbay?"

Her finger stilled for a moment before continuing their ministrations. Her shoulders bumped against his back as she shrugged. "Had my last two patients in our makeshift infectious disease ward. Mom switched me to general practitioner now that Niylah is back on rotation."

Was it bad he was happy she was no longer in their infectious disease ward? No longer fearing someone would come find him on patrol to inform him Clarke came down with their weird influenza.

"They were cute. Ethan and this little girl Madi came running in yelling over one another. Ethan near tears that Madi gave him basically the cooties, while Madi vehemently denied she had said cooties." That was still a thing? He had heard of the cooties when he was younger, a silly reason for boys and girls to play tag. Followed by an equally silly song. "If a boy and a girl touch hands without gloves in the winter months," Clarke said, slipping one of her hands into his, "they spread the cooties."

"Way to get me sick."

With a light chuckle, she pulled away slightly. Her chest no longer flush against his back. Lightly, her nail drew a circle into his shoulder. Then a second smaller circle inside of the first one, followed by two dots in the middle.

Circle, circle, dot, dot. "Don't worry, I don't carry the pathogen."

Her hand detangled from his, beginning its dance across his chest once more. He smiled softly when the fingers stilled, her nails pressing lightly on the skin. The final drawing an "X" over his heart.

“Use me as a pillow, I see how it is.”

+++

It took four hundred and thirty-eight days for something to go wrong. He knew there were a few issues with the hydroponic farm. Kara Cooper had instilled a ration amongst the population to prevent them from exceeding the small vegetation the machine produced. He hadn’t realized the severity that which the issues had reached. The hydroponic farm did not have the capacity to produce food for twelve hundred people. Her proposed means of long-term solution: a cull. Lessen the population, less the toll being taken on the farm.

A third cull within the last two years. A cull on the Ark, a cull to get into the bunker, and now a cull to remain in the bunker. Understandably, Octavia’s advisors were distraught. Each standing around the table, each arguing against another cull. Kara stood tall, dark eyes firm. She would not back down. Bellamy turned his attention to Octavia, ultimately the decision would fall to Osleya. No actions could be taken without her official decree.

His sister looked too small at the head of the table. Her dark hair falling in front of her face. The small silver gear precariously hanging from her forehead.

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile but she turned her gaze downwards. There had to be another way. Octavia voiced this but Kara shook her head vehemently. “The farm does not have the capacity to handle the quantity we need.”

It took four hundred and thirty-eight days for their world to turn to shit.

Later that night, he explained the impending storm to Clarke - who had been holed up in Medbay once more. They barely had the manpower to spare Abby for the meeting, who was present for less than half of the meeting. During dinner, she had noticed something was amiss. Bellamy barely touched his food while Octavia looked apprehensive with every bite. Neither wished to divulge the secrets of the meeting in the middle of the mess hall. Neither wished for anyone to overhear. Monty and Raven quietly asked Clarke what happened but she shrugged quietly, resuming her meal.

Upon returning to their quarters, Clarke didn’t ask him about his off-kilter behavior. Instead, she lifted one of the pens off their table and began connecting the freckles and beauty marks splattered across his forearm. A few months back, an intoxicated Clarke complained how less freckles would grace his skin due to the lack of sunlight for five years. He simply shook his head as she cried drunkenly of the injustice into his shoulder.

He stared out at the drawing tacked against their wall. Some of Wonkru members, a few of fallen loved ones, most of Bellamy sleeping in uncomfortable positions. His favorite being a sketch of Wells and Jake, their heads tossed back in joyous laughter. A happy moment from the Ark immortalized on their wall.

With a sigh, Bellamy quietly briefed Clarke on the meeting. His hands clenched anxiously. The tip of the pen hovered just above his skin, the hand wielding it shaking minutely. “So much for a new dawn.” A second dawn to be exact.

She drew another "X" into his skin.

+++

Foolishly Bellamy thought they would have time to come to a decision. Hopefully one that did not result in culling the population. Yet, as he and Clarke walked down one of the corridors towards Raven’s workshop, Kane sped down the hallway. The older male frantically calling for Bellamy to follow him to the hydroponic farm.

When they reached the hydroponic farm, the trio noticed the door was locked. Kara Cooper and a few others stood defiantly inside. They boldly addressed the people of the bunker: they would need to cull the population in order for the human race to survive. Octavia pushed her way through the crowd gathered, Bellamy and Clarke following quickly behind. Noticing their Osleya, Cooper raised a pistol to her temple forcing Octavia to make a decision: cull the population or lose the one person who could operate the hydroponic farm.

Clarke tugged at his hand, pulling him away from the madding crowd as Indra stepped forward to protect Octavia. He was wrong, it took four hundred and forty days for their world to crumble. Cooper held what remained of the human race at gunpoint. Threatening to take her own life, the life of the only-

“Monty.” he mumbled, Monty knew how the hydroponic farm worked.

Clarke traced small circles into the sides of his wrist, quietly whispering his name in a vain attempt to gain his attention.

Monty may have been assigned to their engineering department but ultimately the kid came from Farm Station. The kid secretly grew marijuana on the Ark for a few years! If they could get him inside to inspect the damage, maybe, just maybe they could save all of Wonkru. “We need to find Monty.” he hurriedly said, placing a frantic kiss to her temple. “Find Monty!”

+++

He and Monty stood just below one of the vents. According to Raven’s schematics, this would lead them where they needed to be. The pair would drop down from the ceiling after Raven and Clarke cut the power. Each pulled a small ventilation mask over their nose and mouth. A small canister of riot gas clipped to their hips. They had a small window of time between the power going out and the emergency generator kicking in. This window would be there only shot to drop the canisters without giving away their position.

Clarke was not too happy they were both going into this armed with overconfidence and basically two old thermoses, but they've had worse odds. 

They'd have approximately an hour to figure out whatever was wrong with the machine and hopefully correct the mess before those locked inside of the greenhouse would wake. He hoisted himself into the vent before reaching his arms down to assist Monty.

One hour to hopefully save what remained of the human race. No pressure.

Ensuring the mask was properly covering his features, Bellamy crawled behind Monty. One hour and hopefully he could live out the remaining thirteen hundred some odd days in peace with a viable food source. On his forearm, Clarke drew a copy of the vent's layout and the path needed. A right, a left, and then another left. An "X" marking their farming station.

Easy peasy.

+++

It was not as easy peasy as he thought. Then again, he had no idea why he optimistically thought one of their plans would run smoothly. Their plans never ran smoothly.

One of the riot canisters happened to be a dud, while the other took too long to activate. Rather than the pair dropping from the vent after the gas knocked everyone out, the group quickly became aware they were being infiltrated. The blackout more than likely arising suspicion. A few blind bullets shooting through the thin metal of the vent, just barely missing nicking either of them. And thankfully when the generator started running, the group disregarded the canister and instead focused their attention on Bellamy and Monty. No one tried to prevent the canister from opening. Multiple thuds then an involuntary ceasefire signaled that the others succumbed to the riot gas.

Monty flitted about the machine. His fingers tinkering with knobs and switches. Bellany acting as Monty's designated third and fourth hands. He'd estimate that thirty minutes passed before Monty popped open the control panel. His fingers hovering nervously over a few buttons. "A cull isn't necessary." Monty's jaw clenched as he spoke, "They hadn't even tried to fix it." 

The machine shook violently for a moment. Gripping Monty's arm, Bellamy backed them towards the door. Almost as immediately as it began, the machine stilled. Monty's eyebrows furrowed with worry, his shoulders tensing. Bellamy could only imagine what he looked like. Finally, water sped through the filtration system, wiping around the opulent pipes. Both of them sagged with relief. They hadn't destroyed the hydroponic farm. They hadn't doomed Wonkru.

"The farm should be running properly within the hour." Running a nervous hand through his cropped hair, Monty glared down at those laying on the floor. "They didn't even try."

On the four hundred and fortieth day, Monty Green saved humanity.

(And Bellamy, but honestly he had no clue what they just did.)

+++

Dinner that night was delicious. Probably the best meal he had living in the bunker. Probably the best meal he would ever have in the bunker. Raven and Monty were eagerly talking about the mechanics behind the hydroponic farm and how a few simple upgrades could probably increase their output without putting a strain on the machine. Whatever they came up with, he knew he would have to put together as Raven's lackey.

(They also discussed a farming mutiny to put Monty as the head of the department. Bellamy could neither confirm nor deny, as a member of Olseya's council, that the conversation occurred.)

Miller shoveled food into his mouth. His shift in their mock jail started in twenty minutes. Bellamy thought Kane would ask him to work that night; they had several individuals in lock-up. They needed more than three assigned to that evening's night crew. But instead, the older male waved from the long table and raised his glass in acknowledgement. Bellamy wouldn't be on shift for the next two days. 

Clarke tucked into his side, picking at the food remaining on his plate. "You had your own dinner. That's mine."

She blew a raspberry at him. Defiantly, she stared him down as she dragged her finger through his remaining mashed potatoes. He went to knock the potatoes back onto his plate but instead of eating it, Clarke smeared it against his cheek, making what felt like an "X" once more. Their friends stilled, watching the pair excitedly. With a grin, Clarke snuck a second glob of potatoes before sweeping it in two parallel lines on the opposite cheek. If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed the wide eyed look on his sister's face. How she gaped like a fish looking between Bellamy and Clarke. But he wasn't. He only paid attention to the fact she dared defile the food he worked so hard to save and the smug grin on her face.

Raven armed her fork with remnants of her dinner. Monty chuckled, his fingers shoveling up the scraps. They were doing this weren't they.

"I recommend the hair." Octavia stated, standing from her seat. "The curls catch everything!" She squeaked, smashing her mush of potatoes into his hair.

It was on.

+++

"This is all your fault." He grumbled, fingers massaging the small beads of shampoo into his hair.

Clarke pressed her soapy hands against his chest, lightly pushing him backwards and out of the shower's spray. "I did nothing."

His hands formed a bowl a few inches above her head. Water catching in his palms. "Don't you dare." She warned, taking a few small steps backwards until she bumped into the shower wall, "I'm warning you."

"You were the one to start a war princess." Separating his hands, he watched as the small pool of water doused over her head. A loud squeal coming from Clarke. "I'm simply ending it."

He had food everywhere: hair, cheek ears, down his shirt. Clarke's miniature food fight leading to an immediate shower, well almost immediately. Kane made them clean up whatever mess the group made before any of them could leave. Poor Miller ran out of the mess hall late for his shift. Clarke fared far better than him. Most of the food that landed on her, ended up in her hair.

Grabbing another small bead of shampoo, he told her to turn around. His fingers threading through her hair. "But I guess we can call it even."

She hummed quietly as his fingers began kneading gently at her scalp. Her body leaning back into his. Wordlessly, she reached up to move his hands from her hair to wrap around her stomach. Her fingernails tracing into the skin of his forearm leaving small, soap trails in their wake. Instead of her usually chaotic mess of loops and swirls, she drew Xs over and over in one spot.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Clarke turned around, arms wrapping around his neck. He took a small step forward to block the water raining down on her face. "I don't get it."

Instead of explaining her odd fixation with drawing Xs into his skin, she continued to do just that. Her fingernails dragging against the back of his neck. 

"Still not clarifying anything."

Clarke tucked herself into him, her chin resting just above his collarbone. She seemed off and it made him nervous. She had been tired and quiet recently, falling asleep soundly almost as soon as they'd return to their small pod. He wished she would lessen her hours at MedBay and anytime he would bring it up, she would raise an eyebrow at him and say something like "Hey Pot, I'm Kettle."

"Back before the bombs, women could buy at home pregnancy tests." She started, pulling away from him. "Most variations used either two lines or a plus sign to signify a positive test."

They weren't Xs.

"Had a blood test done the other day that was positive." Her voice wavered, eyes turning down to her toes. Her arms wrapped around her waist nervously as she curled into herself. 

Clarke had been drawing plus signs into his skin, not Xs. She was pregnant.  _ They _ were pregnant. Their pod may be small, but his mother raised two children in a tighter confines. He would have to somehow gather enough materials for a crib. Find a means to build another bed as the baby would grow older. Monty fixed the hydroponic farm meaning ensuring the child was well-fed wouldn't be an issue. It also made sure Clarke ate enough to sustain herself and the baby during pregnancy.

They were having a baby.

_ A baby. _

"Say something." Clarke pleaded, wiping trails of water from her face. Was she crying or was it just the shower? If she didn't want a child that was fine too. It was her body after all and-

Oh. He hadn't said anything. He just stood in their shower, gaping like an idiot, as his girlfriend said they would be parents. Bellamy hadn't noticed his fingers laced into his wet curls in shock. He slowly pulled them away, the pads of his fingertips coming to rest along her jaw. "Next one will be born on Earth, not in an underground bunker."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Clarke gripped his hair pulling him down to her. Lips moving slowly together. They were having a baby. She laughed as he muttered praises against her lips. She was perfect, their baby would be mostly perfect - it did have him for a dad so. That's when Clarke pulled away with a bright, shy smile. "The next one?!"

They had talked about children abstractly. On the Ark, while he knew he wished he could have children he knew he could never put someone through what turmoil Octavia endured. Restricted to one small cell for their life, relying solely on their family for survival and abysmal social stimulation. If he had a kid, he would only have one. Then when they fell to Earth, he spent more time focusing on survival than building roots and a home. But in the back of his mind, he acknowledged at least subconsciously that they no longer had to adhere to the one child laws. There were no limitations on the population. 

He knew they'd have to have an actual conversation besides him saying he wants kids, plural, and her saying she wished she could have had a sibling. That she would like more than one child. But for now that conversation could wait until tomorrow. When he's had time to process the fact that his girlfriend was pregnant.

"You know, before the bombs this was a time of gift giving." He said, crowding her into the corner. Placing languid kisses up her jaw, he chuckled, "Way to make it difficult to ever top a pregnancy."

To his credit he did  _ try _ to top her present the following year. Their four month old son providing an adorable assist as he asked Clarke to marry him. Once they were above ground again of course. Her face after she realized she said no would be ingrained in his mind forever. She had said no, not to them marrying but because he did not top her previous present. Took her a minute to realize what she actually said before she was knocking him over with apologizes. Demanding he put the damned ring he made on her finger.

He'd figured out some way to top it the next year.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this was okay! Please let me know what you think! I made you a bunch of mood boards too!
> 
> Also these dorks wasted a bunch of water.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://shen-gong-oops.tumblr.com) here.


End file.
